


A Close Shave

by sarasaurusrex



Series: Supernatural Kink Bingo [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Bearded Sam Winchester, Beards (Facial Hair), Body Hair, Bondage, Face Slapping, Facial Shaving, Forced Arousal, Forced Eye Contact, Forced Orgasm, Hair, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shaving, Straight Razors, Tied-Up Sam Winchester, implied wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasaurusrex/pseuds/sarasaurusrex
Summary: Michael!Dean traps Sam and forcibly shaves his beard... among other things. Did I mention the shaving cream's an aphrodisiac? ;D





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> written for my favorite discord perverts ♡ ♡ ♡

 

Sam awoke in a haze. His head felt heavy, and there was a funny smell in the room, like something clean and vaguely floral. One jerk of his limbs told him he was strapped to a chair, and it all came back to him: Michael. In Dean’s body. In the bunker. Sam opened his eyes and saw Dean’s back facing him.

Dean’s parted hair sent a wave of fury over Sam. He was facing a table with various metal instruments, doing something Sam couldn’t see. They were in one of the bunker’s interrogation rooms. Sam was still in his pajamas pants and shirt. Michael heard Sam wake and he didn’t turn to greet him, but Sam could tell he was smiling. It was Dean’s smile after all.

“Sam,” Michael greeted him coldly.

Sam glared at him, “Get out of my brother.”

Michael turned slightly, “Why would I do that? I’ve finally got you, both of you, right where I want.”

Sam saw a razor on the table just past Dean’s elbow, but the sight made him pause. It was a straight razor: Damascus steel with a handsome horn handle. Michael saw Sam staring and picked it up, fingering it lovingly. “Dean likes this one, you know. He used to watch Daddy shave with one just like it.”

“What are you doing?” Sam snarled.

Michael ignored him and moved closer. “Don’t tell me… are you jealous?” He ghosted the blade over Sam’s cheek, just barely grazing his beard. Sam didn’t dare move his head, but he refused to look up at him. A few hairs floated to the floor. “I mean, after this morning I’d understand why. You’re the only one allowed in your brother, aren’t you, Sam?” He purred.

When Sam didn’t meet his gaze, Michael placed the tip of the blade under his chin and lifted his head. Sam’s eyes darted up to Dean’s and his expression hardened painfully.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” Michael smiled through Dean, and the sight made Sam sneer.

“Screw. You.”

Michael’s smile turned cold, “Oh I have something better in mind.” He pulled the blade back and returned to the table. “We have some things we need to discuss, you and I.”

Sam watched bitterly as Dean began collecting things from the table and turned back around. He had a short brush, a copper bowl, and a towel. Sam immediately realized what it w as he'd been smelling. For a moment it almost seemed funny, but he didn’t feel like laughing. He shifted anxiously in his chair as Michael approached.

“You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you’re in a position of command, Sam. Of control,” Michael began. He set the bowl of shaving cream on a table beside the chair and draped the towel over Sam’s thigh. His touch electrified Sam, making him furious with himself.

“But I assure you, this is an illusion,” he grabbed Sam’s jaw with his free hand, making Sam jump.

This time, Sam did laugh. It was a short, hallow sound, but his eyes gleamed victoriously, even as Michael pulled appraisingly at Sam’s beard. “You’re one to talk about jealousy. You think I’m a better leader than you. That’s what this is about, right? My army… my family… it’s stronger than yours will ever be. You’re losing this war, and you know it.”

Michael’s face twitched. Sam wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t know that face so well. But Michael ignored him once again and dipped the brush in the shaving cream. “You won’t think that for long, Sam,” he said plainly, working up a nice lather.

It was only then that Sam realized he wasn’t just smelling shaving cream. Amidst the sharp, pungent fragrance, then there was something else mixed in. Or was he just being paranoid?

“And you’re going to change my mind… with a shave?”

Michael smiled again, and it was his turn to victorious, “I think so.” Then he took the frothy brush and brushed the side of Sam’s jaw with it.

Despite the innocuousness of the act, Sam couldn’t help but feel unnerved; these were Dean’s hands touching him, his green eyes piercing into Sam’s face. Sam looked away and clenched his jaw, trying to think of a comeback and ignore the tingling sensation of the brush.

“You may have already noticed, but this isn’t just shaving cream,” Michael said coolly.

Michael’s hand was deathly steady as he painted the lather over Sam’s beard. Sam shifted again, feeling increasingly anxious. He wished he could close his legs, but Michael was standing between them.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for anything to take his mind off that brush.

“It’s a special substance only angels can produce. It’s especially potent with Archangels.”

“Substance? What substance?”

Michael was painting with indecent tenderness, like he was marking him. “You can think of it as an aphrodisiac.”

Sam stammered, “W...what?”

Michael’s smile darkened. He stepped back to look as his masterpiece. Sam was staring at him in shock.

“Like I said, Sam. You seem to believe, in error, that you will be able to stop me and save your brother. Perhaps more,” Michael set the bowl and brush down and picked up the gleaming blade, “But I assure you, you are in no such position.” He set the blade against Sam’s cheek and Sam froze, his eyes locked dangerously on Michael’s. “You are no commander, Sam Winchester. You are nothing. And you and Dean?” Michael tilted the blade and slowly scrapped it against Sam’s face. Sam shut his eyes despite himself. “You are mine.”

 

Sam felt the cool blade graze his skin, and he trembled slightly. For a while Michael stood between Sam’s legs, much too close, working on him like an artist. He stroked the blade over Sam’s face, following the strong lines of his jaw, curving it here and there to get every last spot. The blade was so sharp that Sam didn’t dare move or speak, forced to tilt his head this way and that. 

Michael was far too comfortable touching him. He’d jerk Sam’s head this way and that, always wiping the cream off on the neck of Sam’s shirt. Sam could endure pain, torture, even death, but the humiliation of the act was getting to him. And when he felt the shaving cream began to effect him just as Michael said it would, Sam gritted his teeth and shut his eyes.

Michael noticed and paused. Sam could feel those green eyes raking over him; Bound and barefoot, cream dribbling down his neck and staining his shirt. The cold air on his face told him that he was half shaved.

“Do you feel it, Sam? How small you are? How futile?” he said quietly, smoothing a hand over Sam’s bare cheek.

Without the blade hovering over him, Sam snapped his face away, bouncing back on his chair. He glared at Michael, panting slightly. Before he could prepare himself for it, Michael slapped him.

Sam gasped, pain stinging his freshly shaven skin. The sensation trickled down however, and Sam bit back an embarrassing sound. He felt naked in just his pajamas pants and shirt. They were so thin. He could only pray that Michael didn’t notice.

Michael had, of course, noticed. He stroked Sam’s face again, admiring the redness there, a knowing glint in his green eyes. “You know, all those times Dean complains about your beard… he loves it. He thinks about it all the time.”

“Shut up!” Sam shouted.

“Ah. Touched a nerve,” he smiled smartly, “Good. Shall we do the other side?”

Sam glared, but he was defenseless as Michael bore down on him and resumed shaving his face. Sam’s heart was racing now, and he could feel the shaving cream being rubbing into his pores by the blade. It seemed contact with his bare skin made the aphrodisiac stronger. Each firm scrape against made Sam breathless and strained, but on Michael went, indifferent to the punishing intensity of the sensations.

Halfway through, Michael paused to caress Sam’s bare face, and Sam snapped away again, risking cutting himself on the blade. Michael grabbed him with both hands and leaned forward dangerously.

“Now now, wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty face,” he whispered.

Sam tried to fight it off, he really did, but a moan escaped him. Michael looked victorious. He didn’t say anything, but continued to shave, holding Sam’s jaw firmly in place this time. He was standing closer than ever; Sam could feel the heat of his thigh through his pajama pants. 

Whether on purpose or not, Michael’s leg brushed against Sam’s erection, and Sam nearly jumped out of his chair. He felt the blade nick him by his ear, then he felt a sharp pain on his head. Michael had grabbed Sam by the hair and forced his head back.

“Ah, ah...” he goaded him, “We aren’t finished yet.”

“Screw you...” Sam panted heavily, flushing red.

“Soon,” Michael warned, keeping his neck bent. He leaned in and smelled the fresh scent of Sam’s skin. “Even Dean agrees. Beard or no beard, you look wonderful right now.” He glanced down, admiring Sam’s impressive erection. Sam clenched his jaw. “But first, we finish this.”

One hand in Sam’s hair, Michael resumed shaving him. He scraped the blade up his exposed neck, sending shivers down Sam’s spine. The cut was bleeding freely now, but Michael didn’t stop it. He let the blood mix with the shaving cream and dribble down Sam’s chest. 

Once Sam’s face was completely shaved, Michael took the damp towel to his face. He wiped the cream and stray hairs from him, then let go of his hair at last.

Sam dropped his head, panting, his body reeling with arousal. He kept his eyes shut while Michael looked him up and down.

“Much better,” he hummed, “Don’t you think so?”

Sam’s jaw clenched, “You’ve made your point. Let Dean go.”

Michael responded by picking up the blade again. Sam’s eyes darted to it anxiously.

“Oh no, Sam,” he said, and he traced the blade down Sam’s damp shirt, “We’ve only just begun.”

Sam knew where the blade was going. He tried to back away, but his limbs were strapped in tight, and he could only sit there as Michael teased the blade down his body, until it rested on his straining cock. 

Sam sucked in a breath, “Don’t.”

Michael raised a brow, “Compelling argument. But I think I will.” He dragged the back of the blade down the shape of Sam’s cock, watching in satisfaction as Sam’s expression screwed up defiantly. “Like I said, you have no control here, Sam. Besides...” Michael dipped the blade into his pants through the opening in the front, and gently scraped it up Sam’s bare cock. Sam bit his lips and groaned. “...you can’t tell me you’re not enjoying it.”

Sam took a huge breath and glared at him wildly, “You’re sick.”

“No. I’m an Archangel,” he said coolly, then reached down and dragged Sam’s pants down to his knees.

Sam shut his eyes, counting his breaths as Michael dragged the razor up his bare knee.

“My my, you keep a clean shop, don’t you?”

The blade teased up his thigh and across his hip.

“But I think we can make some improvements.”

Just as Sam was half hoping for the blade to touch his cock again, half chastising himself for it, it disappeared. Sam opened his eyes just in time to see Michael scoop some shaving cream into his hand.

“Don...” but Sam’s protest was lost.

Michael groped him, working the shaving cream onto his cock with his bare hand, and Sam moaned. He hated himself for it, would have given anything to stop it, but Dean’s hand... it felt so good. 

Michael stopped too soon, spreading the cream to his balls and inner thighs before stepping back. Sam was panting. The aphrodisiac hit him hard for the second time, and he could feel it all over his body, tingling and warming him even where Michael had never touched him, but especially where he had.

“You’re no commander, Sam,” Michael whispered in his ear, “You want to be conquered. To be defiled. Don’t you? That’s why you’ll lose.”

Sam snarled at him.

Michael picked up the razor. Sam sat there, helpless, as Michael brought it back down to his cock. Sam’s public hair was already trimmed, but Michael was intent on shaving him bare. He smoothed the blade up Sam’s sensitive skin, and Sam didn’t dare move now. He sat still in the chair, frozen by far more than straps and restraints. He hated it, but it felt too good to do anything but it continue.

Whenever Sam became too still, Michael would grope him a little more aggressively, or swirl his palm over Sam’s head as he held it. Sam was biting back a moan with every other breath. He was going to come like it.

“I’m impressed, Sam. Seeing you submit like this,” Michael murmured, “You’re finally learning your place.”

Sam couldn’t take it. He was trembling, his thigh dripping with cream and aphrodisiac, wanting to come more than he ever had in his life, but still he growled, “Screw you.”

 

The blade stopped moving. Michael paused, halfway done, and looked up at Sam. He put on a mask of coolness, but Sam could see a flicker of aggravation in Dean’s eyes. Sam’s resolve solidified, even as his body ached for release.

Michael curled his hand around Sam’s cock, and Sam’s eyes widened.

“I see,” he said at last, “I would expect nothing less from a Winchester.” He almost seemed disappointed. But to Sam’s shock, he began stroking his cock in earnest.

Sam gasped, then groaned uncontrollably, his whole body seizing up in the chair.

Michael watched this display of indecent ecstasy with absolute disinterest, like Sam was an overzealous test subject. Sam snarled and gasped, but he couldn’t do anything to make him stop. He expected Michael to push him to the edge and then stop, anyway, so what was the point? This was torture. But it felt so good. Dean’s hand seemed to know just how to touch Sam.

Within minutes he felt an orgasm bubbling up in him, spurring on endlessly by the aphrodisiac stimulating him beyond control. With one last sputter of protest, he gave a silent gasp then orgasmed up his already damp shirt. Michael worked him to the very end, making Sam writhe and strain.

“St...stop… stop!” he groaned.

Michael didn’t stop until was milked dry. He released him at last, and Sam sank into the chair, clinging desperately to consciousness. He had to stay alert, he had to stay focused. But then he felt something cool on his spent cock. Michael was putting more shaving cream on him. He coated him with it, making Sam groan in protest. It took Sam a moment to understand.

Michael stood up and looked Sam over. He was covered in cream and blood, in sweat and cum. Michael smiled darkly. 

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee. So why don’t you sit there and… let that soak in.”

Sam stared at him.

“You should be ready for another round by the time I come back,” he said, “and if you haven’t learned your place after all, well, perhaps we’ll start on that pretty head of yours.” He rose a brow and then, without another word to Sam, strode out of the room, leaving Sam speechless as the aphrodisiac began tingling somewhere inside of him once more.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on making a second part, but since all you wonderful sickos asked for it, here's chapter 2!
> 
> Also, I'm adding this chapter to my SPN Kino Bingo card, completing the 'Orgasm Denial' square. I thought it was appropriate ;)
> 
> A special thanks to [IndridGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndridGrey/pseuds/IndridGrey) for beta-ing!

Michael wasn't paying attention to the time. He'd put on a pot of coffee and a vinyl record and was pursuing an old newspaper from the Men of Letters’ files. He chuckled to himself, Dean's lips pursing into a smile. Humans were so repetitive, so predictable, it was a wonder they hadn't offed themselves already. That would've made his job easier, anyway.

Yes, it seemed this world's stability—a phenomenon neither good nor evil—was down to the Winchester boys’ existence. Michael sighed.

He poured himself one last cup then strolled down the hallway towards the interrogation rooms. As the music faded, another sound took its place: a strained, muffled breath, a resolute shudder, and then a soft click as Michael opened the door.

He sipped his coffee coolly as his eyes fell upon Sam Winchester tied to a chair and trembling, naked from the waist down. He had shaving cream down the front of his nightshirt and his pants were around his calves.

The smooth skin of his freshly-shaved face gleamed in the light, flushed from overexertion. His cock, dripping wet from the aphrodisiac cream, jutted forward, completely erect. Sam was straining like he was trying to fight off some invisible force.

"I'm impressed, Sam." Michael set his mug down with a clank, smiling sadistically.

Sam didn't open his eyes. He was counting slowly in his head, trying to endure the sensations licking his cock, which was already electrified from his first orgasm.

Michael neared him, and Sam knew what was going to happen. He heard Michael's footsteps unusually loudly through the haze of his torment. Still, he jumped when he felt Michael's hand on his cock.

Sam swallowed a groan and looked up, his gaze still fiery, but weak.

"Very impressed," Michael repeated. He curled Dean's warm, calloused hand around his cock and stroked experimentally. Sam groaned. Michael didn't stop, and Sam's chest heaved against its bonds.

"D...don… mmn...no…" he murmured.

The complete lack of body hair made the aphrodisiac in the shaving cream even worse than before.

Sam shook as Michael casually fondled and stroked his cock, watching him with cruel indifference. Sam took deep, steadying breaths but it was no use. He was going to come again, he knew it. His whole body was tingling with it, like he was about to be struck by lightning. Michael was going to jack him off using Dean's hand. But then he stopped.

Sam gasped as Michael let go, leaving him on edge.

"See what a little patience can do?" Michael said, moving smoothly back to his coffee. He turned to observe Sam and took a sip.

Sam was shaking and throbbing, glaring at Michael, and Michael loved it.

"You're sick," Sam spat.

"Mm," Michael conceded, "Yes. But so are you." His eyes gleamed, and Sam knew he was talking about Dean now.

Sam tried to ignore him, but just as he was beginning to regain some control over himself, Michael finished his coffee and was approaching him again. Sam held his breath desperately.

This time, Michael took hold of Sam's chin. He inspected him lazily, admiring his handiwork.

"Do you feel it, Sam?" he whispered, "Your own powerlessness?" He dragged Dean's thumb over Sam's smooth, shaved face. "You, Dean, everyone in this pitiful universe—you all belong to me. You know that, don't you?"

Sam shut his eyes defiantly.

Michael smiled. He let go, but then Sam heard a zip. He opened his eyes and watched helplessly as Michael undid his—Dean's—jeans.

Sam felt a jolt of fury as Michael took hold of his chin again and opened his mouth. Dean's finger ran along Sam's teeth and tongue, making Sam feel like a show dog. And then he was removing his finger.

"Don…"

But Michael paid him no mind. The taste of Dean's cock filled Sam's senses all at once, but Sam didn't dare fight back. It was Dean's body, after all. He sat there, furious with himself for knowing this taste so well, for loving the feel of it on his tongue, but guilt couldn't douse his arousal. His own cock twitched as Michael pressed Dean's down his throat.

"That's it," Michael sighed. "Good human."

Sam glared at him, not letting on how worried he was. Could Dean feel this? Was he trapped and, like Sam, forced to endure his brother's touch while Michael held him powerless?

Michael must have known what Sam was thinking, because he didn't let he suck Dean off fast and dirty; he held him by the hair and made him take his time.

"Maybe this hair can stay," Michael crooned, "It has its use, for now."

Whatever Dean was experiencing his body was fully erect in no time. Sam could feel the aphrodisiac worse than ever with Dean's cock responding so eagerly to his every lick and suck. A couple of times Sam swore he was going to come without any contact at all, but it was never quite enough. He could feel Dean's cock leaking precum down his throat. He could see the muscles in Dean thighs straining. He just hoped Dean could forgive him.

"That's it. Suck your brother dry," Michael goaded him, his voice touched with pleasure.

Sam could tell Dean was close before Michael could. Michael came with a surprisingly human sound, making Sam choke, but Michael didn't ease up. Sam felt a pleasurable tightness in his body, intensifying the sensations in his cock and balls tenfold while he fought for air. Michael was quite unabashed. He watched Sam struggle for a moment, holding him maliciously in place, then he finally pulled out.

Sam gasped and sputtered, tasting Dean in the back of his mouth.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Michael eyed him. It was Dean's eyes that were hazy, Dean's satisfied smile.

"Screw you," Sam rasped.

Michael considered this, placing a hand on the back of Sam's chair. "I thought I told you; you're not in command anymore. You're not winning anymore. So I think…" he bent low to whisper in Sam's ear, brushing Dean's lips against him, "I'll be the one doing the screwing here."

Sam shivered despite himself. Then Michael grabbed Sam's hair and forced his head back. Sam snarled in pain, but Michael ignored him. He snapped Dean's fingers and the chair vanished. Sam would have fallen if not for Michael's grasp.

Michael lowered him onto his bare knees, still tied with his hands behind his back. The restraints around his legs were now bound to the floor, keeping his knees apart. The shaving cream was dripping, trickling down his thighs and spreading its relentless stimulation further. Finally Michael released him and Sam took a second to endure the lingering pain in his head.

"Now then," Michael said as if nothing had happened. He snapped his fingers again and some invisible force pushed Sam's head down, forcing his chest onto the floor.

Sam gasped as the cold concrete shocked his senses. He was lying with his face down, hips up, and legs spread wide. If he weren't so flexible, it would have hurt like hell. Yet the stretch in his thighs and submissive angle of the position made the tightness in his balls worse. And the humiliation of the pose was doing nothing to quell his arousal. He was completely bared and vulnerable to Michael.

Michael walked around him, admiring the sight. Sam couldn't speak. His heart was pounding against the floor. As Michael disappeared from view, he held his breath again, but Michael didn't touch him.

"Very nice, Sammy."

"Don't… call me that," Sam muttered.

Then Sam felt a sharp slap to his ass. He gasped, then groaned helplessly, getting a shock of arousal to his exposed and tormented cock.

"When are you going to learn… that you are no longer in control?" Another slap. "You and all your soldiers belong to me now." Another. "And I'm going to kill them all and make. You. Watch." He punctuated each word with a slap, each growing in strength, until Sam cried out in pain and ecstasy, once more on the edge of an orgasm he knew wouldn't be allowed.

Michael rubbed Sam's red ass with surprising tenderness. Sam shivered and, for the first time, felt defiled.

"But… I must admit. I do like a challenge."

Sam heard Michael shift onto his knees, but nothing could prepare him for the feeling of something cold and frothy being rubbed onto his ass. Sam groaned, realizing what it was at once.

"You're a dick…" He shivered.

Michael ignored him and continued working the aphrodisiac into Sam's red, raw skin. When he was finished he gave Sam a thoughtful slap and, sure enough, Sam moaned. His cock throbbed, so close to orgasm. He prayed Michael wouldn't touch it; he wouldn't be able to stop himself from coming if he did.

But Michael merely slapped him a few more times, making Sam moan more desperately still, then slowly rubbed his thumb over Sam's quivering hole.

Sam's whole body lurched. "Mmn...mf...no…." he panted unconvincingly. "Mich…"

"Oh. You like that, do you?" He continued to rub the cream there, swirling that tight ring of muscle, making it twitch and quiver. "Such a natural submissive. Good."

Sam was nearly panting now. His tried moving his hips but it was useless. And when he finally felt Michael stop and push his finger inside, Sam moaned in earnest.

"Wait, wait, Mich...Michael, no…" Sam whined.

But Michael was relentless. He spread the cream deep into Sam's body, then rubbed it firmly and cruelly into his prostate. Sam’s whole body lit up at once. A wave of bliss washed over him and Sam knew he was going to come. But then Michael stopped.

Sam groaned in frustration. He couldn't help it. Once again he was left tingling on the edge of orgasm, his whole body throbbing, his hole pulsing, his cock leaking precum on the floor.

"That didn't sound like a 'no' to me."

Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice.

"Screw. You."

Michael went silent for a moment, forcing Sam to have no company other than his own fervent lust. He could feel the cream inside his body now, filling him and dribbling down the backs of his thighs. He felt the same licking, tingling sensation on his cock and balls begin to storm his insides, building up relentlessly on his prostate.

Sam realized what Michael was doing behind him. He wasn't going to fuck him. Not yet. He was going to watch the aphrodisiac kick in. Sam felt it truly assaulting his prostate, feeding off of the aphrodisiac still tormenting his cock and balls, and Sam bit back a whimper. His hole felt horribly empty, yet tingling with sensation. Sam squirmed and writhed, panting hard.

"Michael. Michael, stop…."

"No, I don't think I will," he replied smartly, "You are mine, Sammy. Every inch of you is mine. Every inch of Dean is mine. And if I have to wait until it sinks in, I will."

Sam heard Michael get up and return to his coffee. It must have gone cold by now.

Sam felt a fresh wave of fury and arousal. Michael was standing there, drinking coffee in Dean's body, while Sam suffered on the verge of an orgasm that was too much and yet not quite enough.

Sam shut his eyes tight and tried to endure it. He had no idea how long he'd been there, if Michael was even still there, or if he was ever going to get any relief. Whenever he thought the sensations were fading, they resumed like a tidal wave, making Sam moan and undulate anew. He would have given anything to be able to lower his hips. He swore if anything touched his cock, even the concrete floor, he'd come.

Finally, he heard Michael move. The sound seemed to echo in the silence of the room, punctuated only by Sam's uncontrollable grunts and groans.

"You can't win, Sam," Micheal said softly. "You know you can't. I already have Dean, and now I'm going to have you."

Sam took a shuddering breath, smiling victoriously. He could tell Michael was taken aback even if he couldn't see his face.

"You'll never have Dean," Sam spat.

A tense silence filled the room, then something warm pressed against Sam's ass. Words of protest began tempting Sam's tongue but he wouldn't give Michael the satisfaction of hearing them. He only had seconds left, he knew it.

"Let's see how you two feel about that afterwards," Michael said, and slid Dean's cock into Sam's body.

Sam gaped, his whole body struck with pleasure as hot and fierce as lightning, and then the head of Dean's cock thrust into Sam's prostate and Sam was gone.

He came hard—through the tingling, tormenting aphrodisiac, through the shame of not lasting a single thrust—coating the floor with cum and hyperventilating.

Distantly, from another universe, he heard Michael hum in amusement. It was a humiliating sound, but Sam no longer had any control over his body. It spasmed in bliss, basking in the feel of Dean's cock in his ass and the aphrodisiacs swirling and licking every hypersensitive part of him.

But as he came down from it, his body began to convulse. The aphrodisiacs were still assaulting his now painfully pleasured body, and Michael had only just begun.

Michael slowly pulled out to the head, then thrust back in, and Sam whined in overstimulation.

"I'm not going to stop, Sam. You need to understand this. I am never going to stop," Michael said, and began to fuck Sam in earnest.

Sam gasped and shouted, his body twisting in its bonds. He felt electrified, but true to his word, Michael didn't stop. He fucked him hard, pushing the cream deeper into his body than ever and positively pummeling it into his prostate. Sam was crying out, the sound somewhere between begging Micheal to stop and begging him to keep going. He couldn't control what his body was doing anymore. He couldn't move a muscle.

Michael was beginning to pant, working Dean's body in a surprisingly skillful and intuitive way.

"Oh, Sammy. Dean is enjoying this."

Sam sputtered something that sounded like "shut up," then gasped when Michael reached down and touched his vulnerable cock.

"All these memories. Dean knows you so well." As he said it, his finger began to stroke Sam's cockslit.

Sure enough, Sam tried curling in on himself, but to no avail. Michael's finger massaged some of the cream into Sam's cockslit, rubbing more and more until Sam felt it stimulating the inside of his hypersensitive cock. Sam's face was frozen, his mouth agape and eyes watering. Then Michael began jacking him off with his thumb and index finger, focusing only on Sam's cockhead.

Sam cried out, his body convulsing, thrashing, but it was useless. He was a mess. Precum and cream were dribbling from his cock, which was completely erect in record time. He was gasping and pleading shamelessly now, his hips trying to writhe and failing as Dean's cock held him in place.

Michael continued toying with his cock, until Sam felt like he was disconnected from the world. It was only him and Michael, and the shaving cream. The only things keeping him tethered to the ground were his cock and prostate. Nothing else was real, nothing else mattered. Sam lost his voice, gaping uselessly as Michael had his way with him.

Slowly, Sam felt another orgasm begin to expand in him, burning through him like a slow-moving firework.

"Mi...Mi...nmm...no…." Sam's voice shook.

Had Sam been able to think straight he would have known not to say anything, but everything from his voice to his cock was betraying him now.

Michael upped the pace but abandoned Sam's cock. Sam's orgasm slowed, but burned brighter, stronger, flowing to every part of him. Sam could barely breathe. He could feel the cream inside his cock, on his prostate, the sensations too much to endure.

With a strangled cry of ecstasy, Sam came for a third time that night, unable to move a muscle to contain it. His body seized and his cock spasmed. Sam moaned weakly into the concrete as Dean's cock fucked every last drop of cum out of him.

And Sam was well and truly gone. Nothing had stopped—not Michael or the aphrodisiacs, both merciless in their torment of Sam's most sensitive parts—and Sam went into a kind of trace.

Distantly he felt Michael ease up, but he knew he hadn't stopped. He was fucking him now slowly, almost lovingly. After what felt like an hour's time, Michael leaned over and stroked Sam's cock, and Sam came again.

Sam wanted to beg for mercy but couldn't find the strength. He couldn't clench a muscle to endure it—his body felt like putty. The orgasm vibrated through his unresponsive muscles, seeping into his very core and filling him up.

Sam had no idea how much time passed after that, but when the aphrodisiacs finally faded and Michael pulled out, he could feel several loads of Dean's cum seeping out of his ass. He was surprised to hear Michael out of breath.

Slowly, Sam felt the world return to him. The ticking of a clock, Dean's boots on the concrete floor, his own labored breathing.

He felt a hand in his hair but it didn't hurt. Michael was turning him onto his back. Sam collapsed gratefully, his body aching. Then he felt his arms being chained up over his head. After a few tortuously slow minutes, Sam was bound to the floor.

"Good boy, Sam," Michael said, observing him with indecent satisfaction. "Stay here a while, won't you? I've got some errands to run in your brother's body. When I come back, we'll see if you're ready to surrender."

Sam closed his eyes in a desperate act of protest. He couldn't have moved even if the chains weren't holding him.

"Oh, and…one more thing."

Had Sam been watching, he would have seen Michael's victorious smile as he walked back to the metal table. Instead, Sam heard the click of his boots, then the shuffle of his jeans as he knelt down between Sam's legs. He felt Dean's hands on his ass, parting his cheeks, then something pressing into his body. Sam made a compulsive movement, but the chains held him in place.

Sam opened his eyes as Michael slid a slick, smooth something into his ass—not big enough to get him off, but enough to keep him on edge while Michael was gone. Sam knew at once the slickness was from the cream.

"Mi...Michael..." he protested weakly.

"There," Michael ignored him. "That ought to keep you occupied."

Sam could feel the fullness weighing him down and the tingling begin to start up again, this time reverberating aimlessly through his body. Sam watched in shock as Michael picked up his empty mug and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Sammy, try and get some rest. You're going to need it," he said, that subtle smile never leaving Dean's lips as he left the room, leaving Sam alone in the bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're interested in getting updates on stories, what I'm working on, when I'll post, etc, consider following me on [Twitter](twitter.com/sarasrsrex).


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